


Clumsy With Your He(art)

by jimmujamskirkholmes



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Lalo just wants to give nacho a hug, M/M, Nacho just wants to do art, Not Canon Compliant, and are inspired to write a fic?, listen to a song, that's what happened here, this is super au, yknow when you just
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimmujamskirkholmes/pseuds/jimmujamskirkholmes
Summary: “I guess you figured me out, huh?” Nacho sighed with resignation. How was he possibly going to get out of this one and explain to his father his lack of a legal job, the destruction of his life, all due to one man who lit his heart aflame?The man in front of him stalked closer, his presence demanding immediate attention, and lifted Nacho’s head gently to meet his eyes.Grinning widely, and with a purr, Lalo said, “Oh Nachito, you know we were destined for danger.”Or,Where a young man with passion and desire in his heart to follow his dream of becoming an artist is derailed by an eccentric person, more of a cat, really, who simply won’t let him go and drags him through the adventure of a lifetime.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Kudos: 11





	Clumsy With Your He(art)

Nacho never said he was a saint. In fact, if someone asked him if he believed in God, he would probably laugh in their face. 

Actually, that’s not true. 

Nacho would never simply laugh in someone’s face. Rather, a blank, but almost cold look, would form on his face as he glared the other person down. 

If looks could kill, and simultaneously do nothing, this would be Nacho’s look. 

Either way, he does not have enough time to be pondering about the existence of God and the like. What Nacho needs to focus all of his time on now is this  _ goddamn  _ sketch he is supposed to have finished in two days for his first official figure drawing class in art foundation at the university of New Mexico. A month prior, Nacho had received an email from his professor with a request for his whole freshman class to have a sketch prepared for the first class. The sketch should capture a person dear to their heart, and what they believed to be the person’s most essential quality. 

Nacho didn’t know what the actual  _ fuck  _ to draw. Who did he love, who was dearest to his heart? There was no one, no one after his life was basically fucked. Of course, Nacho loved his papa dearly. Now if Nacho wanted to talk about saints, he would immediately mention Manuel Varga. But how could he bother his father now, especially when  _ he  _ was the one who left his papa back at the auto shop to take care of business to pursue  _ art  _ of all things. 

Life has a funny way of working out, though. 

Nacho has always loved to draw, ever since he went exploring in the boonies on a camping trip with his best friend Domingo and his cousins at dusk. The sky seemed to reflect his own heart, the pinks, oranges, and reds clashing together like the passions inside of his heart.  _ Is this really the Earth we live on?  _ A young Nacho wondered to himself. Looking up at the sky, feeling the cool wind on his face, Nacho felt giddiness and complete awe. He was happy to be running around with his friends, occasionally rumbling in the sand roughly. He needed to recreate this moment, to remember it forever. After arriving home, Nacho screeched with glee when seeing his parents. 

_ Mama, Papa, did you know the sky has happiness?  _ Nacho said rapidly in Spanish. 

His mama smiled warmly.  _ What kind of happiness?  _

_ The kind where you feel like a flying bird!  _

His papa laughed.  _ What are you talking about, my silly boy? _

_ I’m not silly!  _ Nacho pouted.  _ I’m going to prove it to you!  _

Manuel and Maria shared an amused look.  _ How will you do that?  _

_ I’ll b...bring it to you, I’ll- draw it to show you!  _

So, a young Nacho eagerly set out to find a piece of paper and some colored pencils. And from there, his soul soared. How could he not have discovered this miraculous way to project his emotions, making them a reality in order to comprehend? 

Upon seeing his drawing, Manuel and Maria Varga smiled warmly. How cute was their son! His drawing, while not magnificent, was completed with an eagerness and determination. Nacho felt that he captured the ruggedness of the mountains in the sharp lines on the page and the endless rawness of the terrain. 

And from there, Nacho never looked back.

Why had he  **not** looked back? 

Looking back at it now Nacho feels like a massive idiot for putting himself through such torture.  _ Art was torture.  _ Would he draw his dad? But what if the professor or a classmate asked about the sketch? And his inspiration? And how he gets the inspiration from his work in general? 

Nacho doesn’t think he could open that can of worms yet. 

He needs to get this done. Well, no one needs to know whether or not the person is real. Never forget about original characters, writers and artists! Sighing, Nacho goes to his drawer and pulls out his one crutch, what he needs to get the art he also needs. The world is full of needs and as they need to be met, the end justifies the means. 

Well, as far as Nacho is concerned. 

Slowly, Nacho begins to drift away and the matter of the Earth starts to change substance. 

\-- 

Nacho has never been more nervous in his life, his shakes noticeable if one were to look closely, sweat also protruding from his forehead. 

_ Art, Ignacio?  _ Manuel Varga sneered. 

Nacho swallowed.  _ Yes, papa.  _

Manuel Varga looked away with a frustrated huff, and Nacho didn’t look back. 

He can do this, he can do this! The art moves him no other way can- not music, not literature. There’s something about art that captures the totality of the human experience, the human condition. Nacho doesn’t understand himself, but through art, he sees his emotions more clearly. He sees where he stands in the world and where life can take him, if he’s brave enough to face it with honesty and integrity. 

At least he finished the sketch, Nacho reasons to himself. He feels like shit, but it’s something good, and at university he can make a name for himself and create new life for himself and his father, who deserves a life of peace after so much time filled with blood, sweat, and tears. 

Lost in thought, Nacho walks down the hallway, walks past a bald man with the most intense expression he has ever seen in his life, many students laughing loudly with excitement, and approaches the art classroom. He opens the door with one last deep breath and steps in. The room is surprisingly very calming with cream colored walls littered with paintings, shelves with sculptures, countless texts, and other miscellaneous items scattered on them. Above a luxurious chandelier hangs, and Nacho feels small. Then, he sees the easels scattered all around the room and inhales the scent of paint. He is home. Faces inquisitively look over to him, and Nacho quickly walks to the first available stool with an easel, thankfully close to the door. Students continue to talk loudly, pulling out their sketches and sharing them with pride. 

A girl with long curly, brown hair pokes Nacho on the shoulder. 

“Hey! I’m Amber.” She says excitedly with a bright smile, eyes squinting up. 

“Nacho.” 

You know how they say the most unexpected things happen at the least expected times?

Well, yeah. 

Nacho almost fell off his stool when the door to the classroom slammed open and made a booming noise against the wall. Looking at the door, a man with darker skin of average height with glasses and a severe expression stood there. After a moment, the man stepped in and closed the door, proceeding to walk to the middle of the classroom near the podium. Could a human really walk with such a straight back? Was this man a mortal? 

Then the man smiled and spoke. 

“Hello, class. My name is Gustavo Fring. You can call me Professor Fring. I look forward to working with all of you this semester to develop your artistic abilities and watch you grow.” Fring said diplomatically, voice strong and in control. He then went on to explain some of the pieces they would be working on throughout the year, most of them being in class with a nude model for reference. Nacho knew this and was interested in learning how to accurately draw the human body. He’s found it difficult while working on past personal projects to create the details and add them for an overall better depiction of the subject. Of course, the whole class tensed slightly at the mention of nude models. It would be awkward the first few times viewing people naked, but viewing them would be from a completely artistic viewpoint. The fact that the models have the confidence to display their bodies amazed Nacho. 

Fring paused in his description of the semester’s syllabus. Addressing the class, he said, “I am sure you all remember the assignment I gave to you prior to the start of class? Please take them out and place them up on the easel board.” 

This was the moment that made Nacho freeze. Would the professor know that the sketch wasn’t from his heart? Or the fact he wasn’t even the right state of mind when sketching? Would his scholarship be taken away? Would his dad…? Amber looked at Nacho questioningly, and he reminded himself to breathe. This was home. 

Or hopefully, it would become home.

Fring started analyzing students’ works on the opposite side of the room, and while all Nacho wanted to do was figure out how to explain this person who was so  _ dear to his heart,  _ Amber would not shut up. 

“Wow, your sketch is beautiful! Who is he? The eyes are so expressive! Why is he dear to your heart?” 

Nacho just shrugged. 

“Oh, by the way, my sketch is…” She went on, speaking almost at a mile a minute. 

Was she on crack or something? 

Fring finally made his way to around the room, and to Nacho. 

“Ignacio, is it?” 

Nacho gulped. “Yeah.” 

Finally, he was forced to face his sketch. On the paper a young boy looked up at the pink, dusty skies in the wild desert close to the mountains. His expression contained unmistakable awe and stardust. The scenery was bold, dark, the colors contrasting and complementing each other at the same time, primary and pastel not quite sure how to feel about the new reality it is forming. At the same time, there is sadness and loss in the boy’s eyes. Why is this? 

Nacho created this in a state of delirium and seeing it again fills him with disgust. Can he not create something beautiful sober?

“I do not mean for this to offend you, of course,” Gus paused, “but your sketch is lacking in depth.” 

“What?” Nacho said baffedly. 

“There is no doubt, Ignacio, that this young boy means something to you. But it is clear that there are no good feelings attached to the piece, and this is definitely not your heart’s desire.” 

Fring walked away, and Nacho sat there, numb, lost in his thoughts. Usually the method he uses before a major piece produces outstanding results… 

What did he do wrong? 

“Hey, Nacho,” Amber said to him gently, “Don’t take it too hard. You heard him say similar critiques to the others. Your piece is still so well done!” 

Nacho spared her a wry grin. “Thanks.” 

Professor Fring came back to the middle of the room and held up his hands to silence the class. 

“Now, I must commend you all on all of your pieces today. There is a great amount of talent in this room, but work must be done. We will succeed in our endeavors.” He took a pause. “I want you all to think carefully about what you presented to me today and why.” And looking at Nacho, he said, “You have to be prepared to face your biggest fears and your demons.” 

Nacho was definitely not,  _ not  _ prepared. He must know, doesn’t he?

_ He’s figured me out, he’s figured me out, he’s figured me out, he’s figured me out….. _

And once they were dismissed, Nacho shoved his sketch into his bag and all but ran out of the room, barely able to breathe. God, where was it? There are too many people and he might have bumped into someone but he couldn’t be bothered enough to care. Finding the nearest bathroom, after fucking finally, and briefly checking to make sure that no one was in the stalls, Nacho grips the sink harshly. Then, he turns to his bag, desperately grasping for the small amber vial that would bring him calm. He pulls it out, opens the cap, takes out a small white pill, hands shaking… 

And the door slams open. 

The pills fall to the floor, scattering everywhere, and Nacho crouches desperately trying to pick them all up and get out unscathed. 

“What,” a grizzly, monotone voice bites out, “is going on here?” 

As the life saying goes, and what Nacho has always tried to follow, but with some failures… 

It’s always better to take a look behind you. 


End file.
